


One Night In Milwaukee

by flowerfan



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Airport lobbies are hell, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assault (off-screen), Brief discussion of depression, Canon through somewhere in season 6, Discussion of past alcohol use/abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Love, M/M, Reunion, future!fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29218896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: Being stuck in the Milwaukee airport is bad enough.  Then David realizes that the man who broke his heart is sitting right next to him.  After a rom-com worthy reunion, David decides he won't walk away again.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 247
Kudos: 346





	1. Chapter 1

The announcement at the gate is almost impossible to understand, but David gets the gist anyway. His flight to Toronto is cancelled, and no further flights will be leaving until at least tomorrow morning.

He immediately starts searching on his phone for a nearby hotel, wishing he had bitten the bullet and done so hours ago. It’s nearly midnight and he’s exhausted, having spent the best part of six hours in the Milwaukee airport as his connecting flight got delayed again and again. He’s just about to reserve a room when a nearby airline employee is accosted by an impatient couple. David stands up and drifts close enough to listen in – at least her words are clearer than those coming over the PA system.

Apparently due to the blizzard many roads are impassable, and passengers are being encouraged not to leave the airport. Even if they make it to a hotel, the airline employee explains, they will almost certainly have trouble returning in the morning. She encourages the couple to stay at the airport overnight if getting out on a flight tomorrow morning is their goal. 

David sighs, grabs his bag, and makes his way over to the long line of passengers hoping to rebook their flights for the next day. He’s reached that state of tiredness when he can’t even focus on things around him. He doesn’t even bother scrolling through his phone, he just tunes out and shuffles forward until his turn comes.

It’s not as if it even matters if he gets to Toronto tonight, or tomorrow. There’s no one waiting at home for him, no one who will care when he gets home. It’s been more than three years since he’s had anyone like that. Three years since he lost the best thing that ever happened to him.

David’s done the best he can to keep busy, now that the initial period of paralyzing depression is in his rear view. He works out, and keeps up with current events, and stays out of bars. He lives in Toronto, someplace familiar enough to be comfortable, yet completely bare of memories of Patrick.

For the past few weeks he’s been hanging out with Alexis at her condo in Brooklyn. She had decided to throw a party for American Thanksgiving, which David thought was actually in poor taste but somehow didn’t manage to convey to Alexis until the day before. In the end they cooked a bunch of food and donated it to a homeless shelter so he figures they did okay. It had been good to spend time with his sister, but she is busy with her job and her friends and eventually David had to head back home, which brought him to this endless stopover in Milwaukee. 

David tries his best to be civil as he is tentatively booked onto an 8:35 a.m. flight the next morning. 

“Thanks for flying with us,” the perky gate attendant says as she hands him his new ticket. “Please make your way to the lobby. This area will be closing soon.”

David blinks at her, confused. “Excuse me?”

“Please make your way to the lobby, sir. Passengers can’t remain by the gates overnight.”

David shakes his head and steps away as the next impatient customer pushes forward, and the woman’s instruction soon becomes clear. Everyone at the gates is being herded away, back out past security and to the much smaller lobby area. So not only does he have to spend the night in the Milwaukee airport, he’s got to fight for a chair again. Fantastic.

Miraculously David manages to find an empty spot at the end of a row, near a chilly expanse of glass with a view of the storm outside. He flops down with his bag next to him and stares for a while, not able to see much except swirling flakes illuminated by the flood lights on the tarmac. 

After a while David drapes his leather jacket over his head to block out the evil florescent overheads and leans back, trying to doze off. He knows it’s going to be next to impossible to sleep like this, but he’s got nothing better to do. He vaguely notices someone approaching him, looking for a place to sit, and he tugs his bag off the empty seat next to him so the man can sit down. David may not be a nice person, but he’s not a complete asshole. 

_A nice person._ Once upon a time, there was someone nice who cared about David, and who David cared about more than he ever thought possible. It was like something out of a fairy tale, right up until the end. David’s still not sure what happened, but the outcome was clear enough – Patrick was tired of him, and so that was that. No fiancé, no wedding, no happy ending in Schitt’s Creek. Rosebud Motel Group bought out Patrick’s share of Rose Apothecary, and David moved the store closer to Toronto, where it slowly became just a source for toiletries for the motel chain. Eventually the physical location closed, and David’s role dwindled to almost nothing.

It’s been more than three years, but his heart still aches when he thinks about Patrick. He can still hear his voice in his head, giving him shit or whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

Bizarrely, it’s at that very moment when he hears Patrick’s voice again, and it’s most decidedly not in his head.

“Thanks, that would be great.”

David sits up, his jacket sliding on to his lap, and his jaw drops. Sitting right next to him, taking an orange polyester blanket from an airline employee, is Patrick. He’s got a hoodie pulled up on his head over a ball cap, but it’s obviously him.

“Oh my god,” David breathes out, feeling his stomach fall. This can’t be happening.

“David?” Patrick turns to him. “Oh. Wow. What are the odds?”

“What – what are you doing here?”

Patrick is in the Milwaukee airport, backpack on the floor by his legs. It’s no mystery what he’s doing here. But David’s brain refuses to process this.

“My flight was cancelled.” Patrick fidgets with his hat, not really looking at David. 

“But why are you sitting here?”

Again, not a mystery. The whole lobby is packed. David needs to get a grip and stop asking stupid questions. But he’ll need to work himself up to something more on point. He still can’t get over the fact that Patrick Brewer is sitting next to him.

“Um, right. I’m sorry.” Patrick leans forward to grab his bag. “I’ll, um, go somewhere else.” 

Patrick stands up, and a nearby man spots him, vulture-like and poised to take his chair if he moves away. There’s not another free seat in sight.

“No,” David chokes out. “No, stay. It’s all right.”

“Yeah?” Patrick glances quickly at David and then away again, his shoulders practically up by his ears. “Okay. Thanks.”

David focuses on his breathing and presses his face into his hands, hoping Patrick doesn’t notice how close he is to freaking out. It’s unlikely, but you never know. If he does notice, at least he probably won’t call him out on it.

“I’m sorry, David. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Or maybe he will.

“I’m fine.”

“I really can leave, there’s a spot against the wall over there-”

“Patrick, for fuck’s sake, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Can I get you something? I’ve got some water…”

Unbelievable. “I’m sorry, you can sit here, but if you think there’s anything you can do to make this better, you’re out of your mind.” David can hear how shrill he is, but he can’t help it.

“Whatever. It’s not as if I ever knew how to fix us in the first place.”

“It’s not like you tried.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Patrick says, nearly shouting.

“Um, excuse me, but some people are trying to sleep, man,” a kid in a beanie sitting across the aisle from them interjects. “You should try it.”

“Eat dirt,” David hisses, and Patrick, that bastard, laughs.

“What?”

“You’re a riot, David. Sue me.”

David huffs and twists his body away. He’s not sure how to do this, have an ordinary conversation with Patrick in an airport. All the anger and hurt he thought he had handled is suddenly back, as painful as ever.

A few minutes later there’s a crinkling sound. “Want some?”

Patrick is holding a piece of red licorice in front of his face. 

David blinks, disbelieving. Patrick wiggles the licorice. “Fine.” David accepts it and takes a bite, hoping he’s chewing in a sufficiently dignified way. 

“Did you have a nice visit with Alexis?”

David frowns. “How do you know I was visiting Alexis?” Alexis had closed ranks against Patrick when it all went down. David had thought it appropriate at the time, but something in Patrick’s voice tweaks a pang of regret.

“You smell like her.”

“Ew, what?”

“Her perfume.” Patrick shrugs. “I recognize it. Or maybe you’re dating someone who wears it, I don’t know.”

“I’m not.” As if. “Guess I spent too long on Alexis’ couch.” He brushes at the leather jacket on his lap, as if little bits of Alexis would be clinging to it.

“How is she?”

Again, that pang. “Good. She’s good. She’s happy in New York. She’s got friends – real friends. Not that she didn’t before, you know, back in-” David can hardly say it, but Patrick nods. “But now she’s got real friends in New York, so.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Patrick says.

“What about you? How long have you been away? Work or pleasure?”

Something comes over Patrick’s face that David can’t describe. “Well, it definitely wasn’t pleasure.”

The conversation comes to an expectedly awkward end, both of them falling silent. There’s a group of people behind them who keep arguing over whether they should rent a car and drive to what seems to be a college reunion of some sort. David wishes they’d just go already.

“Want some more?” Patrick offers up another piece of licorice, and suddenly making nice isn’t working for David anymore.

“You can’t fix this with candy, Patrick. Bribes don’t make up for cheating.”

David can feel Patrick bristling next to him. “I didn’t cheat, David,” he hisses. “I told you, you just wouldn’t listen. If you want to keep believing it that’s on you, but I absolutely did not cheat. I would never do that to you.”

“You wanted to.”

“I did not!”

“Shhhh,” the woman on the other side of Patrick entreats. “We don’t care.”

David angrily bites off another piece of licorice. “You told me Mark was just a guy you met at the community center, and then all of a sudden he’s in the store when I’m not there.”

“We needed someone else to work on busy days when you had vendor visits – we agreed on that. I was training him!”

“You never told me. And when I came in-”

“He was just helping me put some boxes away.”

“I can’t believe we’re having this discussion again,” David says, tears welling in his eyes. He remembers the moment like it was yesterday, coming into the back room and finding Patrick with a tall, slim, dark-haired stranger, the man reaching up around Patrick, pressing him into the shelves.

“What do you mean again? We never had it in the first place. You came in, screamed at me, and left. You never let me explain.”

“What kind of explanation would you have given me? What could you possibly say? You’d been out every night that week with lame excuses, you kept finding reasons to avoid me, and then I find you with someone else.”

“David…” Patrick takes in a long, deep breath, and lets it out again. “David. I was out so much because I was planning your birthday party.”

David stares at him. “That’s impossible. Stevie would have told me. Or Alexis.”

“I didn’t tell Stevie, or anyone in Schitt’s Creek. I didn’t want them to give it away. Mark was actually helping me. His family has an orchard out near Elm Valley, with an outdoor pavilion that was really pretty nice. I was thinking about having it there so I drove over to see it after work. Unfortunately, the first time I went, it started raining, so I went back the next night. Mark said there was a spectacular sunset view, but I wanted to see it for myself.”

“That’s… that’s only two nights. What about the others?”

“It _was_ only two nights, David. Maybe my excuses weren’t that great, but it was only two nights. The rest of them we spent together just like always.”

David lets himself really look at Patrick, who is looking right back at him. He seems, possibly, just as hurt and miserable as David feels. Maybe more.

“It seemed like more than two,” David says pathetically. “Why, um, why didn’t you tell me that sooner?”

“You blocked my number.”

It’s true. Not his most mature moment. “Oh.”

“I would have thought,” Patrick starts, and then shakes his head and presses his fingers to his mouth.

“What?”

“No, forget it. It’s history now, right?” Patrick tugs his ball cap down, shading his eyes. 

“What were you going to say?” 

Patrick wrings his hands together, then glances up at David and then back at his hands. “Just that, you know, in the context of everything we meant to each other, given that we were _in love,_ and _engaged,_ that you might have cut me a break and listened to me instead of jumping to such a ridiculous conclusion.”

“Ridiculous?” David scoffs, trying not to let Patrick’s all too valid words sink in. “Hardly. It’s no different than how every relationship I’ve been in has ended. I’m always left behind. Too much. I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did.”

“David.” Patrick grabs his hands, and David stiffens. “You were never too much for me. I’m not everyone else. And I didn’t leave you behind. You left me.”

David feels a rush of shame, and Patrick just squeezes his hands tighter. It’s not as if he’s never wondered if he hadn’t screwed up, leaving the way he did. He knows he probably did. It’s just that it’s striking him now how very likely it is that his misery has been almost entirely of his own making.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you don’t deserve to believe that I would do that to you.”

David tugs his hands out of Patrick’s. “Well, I’m sure you’re better off now anyway.”

“Not even a little.” Patrick’s voice is soft and sad, and David can’t help meeting his eyes. What he sees is devastating. “Sure, I dated for a while, once I was able to get out of bed, but I gave it up after a few disasters. You spoiled me for anyone else.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Maybe it’s just that my heart was so thoroughly broken, no ordinary guy had a chance.” The silence stretches, and then Patrick says, his voice thready, “How about you?”

There’s a catch in his voice, but something in his tone makes David’s heart skip a beat. It’s an opening he never expected.

“I never met anyone else either. Didn’t even try.” David clears his throat and looks up, catching Patrick’s gaze. For all the fear he’s shown in the past, for all that his insecurities ruined them, David feels like he owes Patrick a moment of bravery. “There was no point, not when I’m still in love with you.”

Patrick stares at him, eyes wide, and then abruptly stands up. “Save my seat,” he says, and strides away, hands clenched in fists at his sides.

“Well, maybe now I get can some sleep,” the rude kid with the beanie grumbles, and David barely restrains himself from throwing something at him.

“We’re having a moment, here,” David says.

“Might go better if you fucking apologized,” the kid replies, pulling his orange airline blanket up over his head.

“He’s got a point.” The woman on the other side of Patrick’s seat gives David a pointed look that would put Ronnie Lee to shame. “Sounds like you really messed up.”

“Who are you, anyway?” David snaps.

“Audrey. Nice to meet you, David,” the woman sasses back, tossing her short black hair. 

“Oh my god.” David stands up, arms wrapped tight around his body, and scans the lobby for Patrick. “He probably just went to the bathroom. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“I hope for your sake you’re right,” Audrey replies. “But if you want to go look for him, I’ll keep an eye on your stuff. There’s no way I’m falling asleep in this place. Too noisy.”

David looks her up and down, and then decides he doesn’t care whether she steals his bag. There’s more at stake here than an aging laptop. “Thanks.”

He weaves his way through the seating area, stepping around families sleeping on the floor and people stretched out in every available space. He shudders to think about putting his face anywhere near the carpet and the plethora of germs that must live there. He’ll never be that tired.

There’s a food court around the corner, all the restaurants closed with metal gates drawn down. It’s darker here, and quiet. The scattered tables and chairs are mostly empty, the metal furniture not particularly conducive to sleeping.

Patrick’s standing in front of the Cinnabon.

“They open at 5,” he says, not looking at David. “Only four hours to go.”

“Good to know.” David moves closer, trying to see Patrick’s face, but between the dim lighting and the way Patrick keeps ducking his head, he can’t see much. 

“Look, Patrick. I, um, I know it’s probably too late, but.” David leans his head back and blinks up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry. I should have trusted you.”

Patrick shrugs. “Yeah. You should have.”

David sucks on his lip, not sure where to go from here. “Maybe we could talk about it?” This sounds like torture, but he doesn’t see too many other options, and they’re already in hell.

Patrick nods, and David tries to tell himself that this is a good sign. He spots a nearby open table and reaches to pull Patrick towards it, but he has barely grasped Patrick’s arm when he flinches and pulls away. 

“Patrick?” David moves closer. Patrick’s eyes are squeezed together in pain.

“Patrick, wait, are you hurt? What’s wrong?” David’s hands flutter towards Patrick’s shoulders, afraid to cause further distress.

“No, sorry, I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Patrick turns away, but now David sees how stiffy he’s holding himself, how the puffiness in his face probably isn’t just due to airport overheating. All of David’s anger and hurt flow out of him, replaced by an urgent concern. Something isn’t right.

“Patrick,” David says, as calmly as he can. “Come sit down with me?”

Patrick glances at him and nods, and lets David lead them over to a table.

They sit next to each other, Patrick’s whole body radiating discomfort. David forces himself to wait, to breathe. To give Patrick a moment. “Sweetheart,” he says finally, the endearment purposeful and honest, “what happened?”

Patrick takes in a long breath and lets it out. “I was attacked.” He’s speaking softly but steadily, his gaze fixed straight ahead. “Three nights ago, coming out of a bar with my cousin Jamie. He’s only nineteen-” Patrick’s voice breaks and he sucks in air, then goes on. “He wasn’t hurt, thank god. He got away. But I-” Patrick huffs a bitter laugh. “I got a little banged up.”

Patrick turns towards David, sliding his hoodie off of his head and removing his hat. There’s a dark purple bruise on his temple, and a bandage running from the top right corner of his forehead back to his ear. 

“Oh my god, Patrick,” David reaches for him, then stops himself. “Where – where else, I don’t want to hurt you-”

“Couple of broken ribs, bruises,” Patrick indicates his right side and upper arm. “Eight stitches on my head.”

“Come here, come here,” David can’t help himself, he walks his fingers onto Patrick’s shoulders and eases him in. Patrick sags into the embrace, his face nestling into that space against David’s neck that used to belong only to him. “I’m so sorry, Patrick, I’m so sorry.” David holds him gently, rubbing his back with careful strokes. He feels like his heart is going to burst. Patrick sniffles into David’s neck, trying not to cry, and David circles his arms around him. “I’ve got you,” David soothes. “You’re okay.”

David doesn’t ever want to let Patrick go, but after a minute or so Patrick starts to pull back, and David has no choice. He lets his fingers skim down Patrick’s arms as he straightens up.

“Thank you, David,” Patrick says into the awkward silence. 

“Yeah, well. After screwing everything else up, seems like the least I can do.” David looks around and stands up, rubbing his hands on his thighs. “Shall we go back and make sure Audrey hasn’t stolen our bags?”

“Who’s Audrey?”

David can’t help but stay near Patrick as they make their way to their seats, his hand on the small of his back. Patrick lets him, leaning into his side, a hundred and eighty degree reversal from where they were an hour ago.

He can’t imagine what Patrick is feeling. Despite all the crap David has gone through in his life, he’s never been the victim of what he assumes was a hate crime. And the fact that Patrick is traveling by himself… where was he when he got assaulted? Who was there for him?

_You should have been there,_ David’s guilty mind supplies. If David hadn’t ruined their lives with his self-doubt, he would have been there for Patrick. For better or for worse. Of course, if they were still together, nothing like this would have happened to Patrick in the first place, because they would have been safe in Schitt’s Creek where they belonged.

They arrange themselves in their miraculously still empty seats, David pulling the orange blanket up over them both. He holds out his arm and Patrick leans into him, resting his head on his shoulder. Patrick’s seated to his right, so it’s his uninjured left side up against David.

The feel of Patrick’s body against his is so familiar and yet it’s been so long, it makes David want to cry. Instead he gently curls himself protectively around Patrick’s body and closes his eyes.

Patrick turns into him, his arm going around David’s waist and his face pressing against his neck. “Missed you,” he whispers into David’s skin.

“You too,” David sighs into Patrick’s hair. “So much, Patrick. So much.”

David dozes for a while and eventually falls asleep, waking only when the PA system starts making incomprehensible flight announcements. Patrick is already awake, leaning forward and digging around in his backpack. 

David blinks blearily at him as he remembers the events of the night before. It seems like a dream, but Patrick is right there in front of him, solid and real. He glances up at the clock on the wall. Five-fifteen. “Wanna get a Cinnabon?” he asks, his voice scratchy. It’s not the best line he could have come up with, but he figures Patrick must be hungry too.

“No, sorry, they said my flight’s here. I have to go to the gate.”

David suddenly feels faint. “What – no – that’s impossible. The first flight to Toronto isn’t until eight something, they put me on the earliest one, that’s what they told me at the desk-”

“David.” Patrick’s eyes are heavy and sad. “I’m not going to Toronto.”

“But you said-” He didn’t say, David realizes. He just assumed they were both on their way back home.

“It happened in Toronto,” Patrick says, not needing to identify what “it” he’s referring to as he tugs the hood of his sweatshirt over his ball cap. “I decided I needed to get away for a while. Put some distance between me and all that.”

David’s heart is pounding hard in his chest. It’s a wonder Patrick can’t hear it. “Where are you going?” 

“Florida. My parents bought a little house there, they use it in the winter but not until after Christmas, so it’s empty now.” Patrick sighs and hoists his backpack up, wincing. “It’s been really good to see you, David.”

Patrick gives David a sad little smile, and starts walking away.

There’s a moment when David actually imagines letting Patrick go, and he wants to slap himself silly.

“Patrick, wait.” He scrambles to grab his bag and jogs after him. “Let me come with you.”

Patrick looks puzzled as they join the line of bleary-eyed people waiting to take off their shoes and slide their belongings through the scanner. “Okay, but once you go through you won’t be able to get to the food court.”

“No, Patrick – I mean to Florida.”

“You hate Florida,” Patrick replies automatically.

“That is entirely besides the point.”

“You can’t come with me. You have a life, David.”

“Patrick, I don’t. Not one I want. Not without you.”

This gets Patrick’s attention, and he steps out of the line. “What are you talking about?

David moves towards him, his whole body trembling. “I am so, so sorry I messed things up between us. I know how badly I hurt you. I have changed, though, I’ve been in therapy for real, and I’ll do whatever it takes…” He sucks in a breath and races on before Patrick can interrupt. “I will regret it forever, what I did to you, and it’s probably unforgivable. But if – if you think it’s not, if you think maybe you could give me another chance, please, let me come with you.”

“David…”

“I won’t give up on us again. And I don’t… I don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet.” David can feel his throat tightening up. “Not if there’s any possibility… Let’s try. On whatever terms you want, for however long. Please.”

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” But Patrick’s eyes are saying what his words aren’t, and David holds his gaze, hope building in his chest.

“I think it’s the only decent idea I’ve had in years.” David reaches out and twines his index finger around Patrick’s, a single point of contact holding them together. “I bet we can find someplace to go hiking in Florida. With lots of bugs, and, um, maybe alligators?”

Patrick’s eyes flicker down to their hands, and back up to David. “You’d face alligators for me?”

“Yes.”

“And bugs too?”

David feels his heart leap, and he struggles not to smile. “Yes. I will face a reasonable number of bugs for you.” He takes a deep breath. “It doesn’t have to mean we’re together, you don’t have to commit to anything-”

“What if I want to?”

David pulls Patrick’s hand up and presses it tight against his chest. “Then I’m not going to argue with you,” David says breathlessly. 

“That would be a first,” Patrick says, and David chokes out a laugh.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

They crash together lips first, David’s arms going around Patrick’s shoulders and Patrick’s hands grabbing at David’s hips. David can’t get enough, and apparently neither can Patrick, mouths open and tongues tasting in a mad rush. It’s sloppy and ridiculous and David is going to remember it for the rest of his life. When they finally come up for air, they realize that everyone in the security line is cheering and clapping, and David rests his forehead against Patrick’s.

“They’re taking video, aren’t they,” David says.

“Hashtag ‘one night in Milwaukee,’” Audrey hoots at them as she takes off her boots and sets them in a plastic bin. “Glad you got your head out of your ass, David.”

“Me too,” says Patrick, herding David back towards the screening line. “Just promise me one thing.”

David searches Patrick’s face, but he’s smiling, and he can’t help a matching smile from stretching his own cheeks. “Anything.”

“Pretty sure our flight’s going to be packed. I get the window seat.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _My friends, you asked for more of this story, so here it is. Buckle your seat belts, the angst continues in Florida, too._

It’s chilly on the airplane, but most people seem thankful for the early morning flight after spending the night in the Milwaukee airport. Patrick watches from his window seat as David charms an older woman, ticket in hand, convincing her with his best customer service smile to take David’s seat two rows back so that David can sit next to Patrick. 

Despite everything, Patrick keeps finding himself staring. David looks so _good,_ even on just a few hours of sleep. Patrick can hardly believe he’s right there, with his ripped jeans and twinkling eyes, breathing the same recycled air as Patrick.

“You traded an aisle seat to sit next to me?” Patrick asks as David wedges himself into the middle seat, twisting and turning to get his leather jacket off without elbowing Patrick.

“Hm, yes, questionable decision,” David says, flashing a quick look at Patrick before digging underneath his leg for the seat belt. 

There’s some more shuffling as a young woman settles herself in the seat next to David. She promptly sticks airpods in her ears and closes her eyes, so all things considered, it’s the best case scenario as far as a potential seat mate.

Once all the announcements are over and the plane takes off, David’s attention turns back to Patrick. It’s uncomfortable in a way it never used to be, and suddenly Patrick can feel how their years apart have scarred them. He wonders if it’s a mistake, this spur of the moment decision to spend more time together. To _be_ together, if his own words are to be believed.

Maybe it wouldn’t seem so overwhelming if it didn’t start off with literally being pressed together, thigh to thigh, for the next three hours.

“How are you feeling?” David asks, his eyes flickering over Patrick’s face. 

Patrick remembers the sharp pain of a booted foot impacting his body. He can’t seem to stop remembering it. Taking in a breath, he pushes away the wave of fear/anger/shame that goes along with the memory. “Okay. Kind of sore.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Patrick shifts a little, and winces. David of course sees it, and the whole mess just gets more uncomfortable, a feedback loop of sympathy and pain. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Want to try and get some sleep?”

Patrick’s head lists obediently towards David’s shoulder, as if it has a life of its own, but the movement makes his ribs twinge painfully. Patrick’s injured right side is next to David, unlike when they were sitting in the airport, so it’s not going to be as easy to lean against him. 

David looks him up and down and frowns, then fiddles with the seat arm in between them until he can raise it up and out of the way. He shuffles a little closer to Patrick, his body close and warm. “Does this make it easier?”

Patrick leans carefully, not needing to tilt as much, and breathes out slowly. “Yeah. You sure…?”

“Yes,” David says firmly, without even waiting for Patrick to finish his sentence, assuming Patrick was even able to finish it. “This is good. I mean – for me, this is good, I shouldn’t have assumed, only if you’re comfortable-”

“It’s good,” Patrick says quietly. He sets his hand on David’s thigh, palm up. He can feel the frayed edge of his jeans, the ripped opening right under his hand, and the warmth of his skin underneath.

David places his palm against Patrick’s slowly, reverently. “Try to get some sleep,” he says, his voice wavering. “We’ll be there soon.”

Patrick closes his eyes, and takes slow, measured breaths. He wants to breathe deeply, to inhale David’s scent, but his ribs ache more now than they did yesterday, after over twenty-hour hours without being able to stretch out in a bed. Not that he’d trade anything for his cancelled flight, given what happened as a result.

After some uncertain amount of time he feels David’s breathing slow, and opens his eyes to take him in. David is beautiful when he sleeps. Patrick always loved waking up before David and getting to look at him, his face relaxed and deprived of all its usual armor. 

Patrick studies the new lines on David’s face. There are little ones that have crept in despite David’s careful skin care routine. His scruff is longer than he likes it, as a result of not having shaved this morning, and it gives a bit of a rugged edge to his jaw. Patrick is seized with the urge to nibble on David’s earlobe, to wake him up with a whispered request, like he used to do, and laughs to himself at the thought of doing that on a plane – even if they were there yet, which they are not. Which they might never be.

He’s not sure where they are headed. Their melodramatic meeting in Milwaukee, as alliterative as it might be, can hardly be relied upon to set the groundwork for a stable future relationship.

David hums, mutters something about sunscreen, and settles back down. Patrick wants to kiss his mumbled words, tell him not to worry, shush him back to sleep. But he just keeps still.

When the flight attendant comes by asking if they are sure they don’t want something to drink, apparently not influenced at all by the fact that people don’t generally tend to drink anything while sleeping, David rubs his face and blinks.

He’s adorable, making the same disgruntled expression he always did when faced with the cruel reality of waking up, but then he looks at Patrick and his eyes brighten. 

“Hi,” David says, his lips pursing, happy but trying not to show it. It still kills Patrick that David censors his own happiness.

“Hi,” Patrick replies. “Have a nice sleep?”

David frowns. “You were supposed to sleep too.”

Patrick shrugs, which is actually sort of painful. David, of course, notices.

“I can’t believe you’re traveling right now,” David scolds him softly. “Do you even have any pain pills? If I had known, I could have found something useful in Alexis’ medicine cabinet.”

They both ignore the fact that neither of them had any clue that they were going to meet up, and that Alexis probably doesn’t have that kind of stuff around the house anymore.

“There’s some extra strength Tylenol in my backpack.” Patrick realizes as he says this that he hasn’t taken any since the night before. 

“Okay, give me a sec,” David says, then turns to the woman next to him, who decides it’s a good time to make herself scarce for a few minutes. David tugs Patrick’s backpack down from the overhead compartment and finds the pills. “Need anything else from in here?” 

Patrick shakes his head, and David puts his bag away.

“Want to go to the bathroom before Ms. Earpods gets back?”

Patrick is starting to feel like a child, with all David’s questions, but he knows David’s just trying to help.

“No, I’m good.”

David disappears down the aisle, whether to visit the bathroom himself or bother the flight attendants Patrick doesn’t know.

It’s the first time they’ve ever been on a plane together, which is kind of funny given the length of their relationship. They probably would have flown somewhere for their honeymoon, if they had made it that far. Patrick’s glad at least that David doesn’t turn out to have any kind of flight-related phobias or complaints, although chances are he probably does and is just keeping them to himself for Patrick’s sake.

Patrick doesn’t doubt it, actually, because it’s clear that David is still in full-on guilt mode. He’s laser-focused on taking care of Patrick, and not saying a word about his own concerns. Patrick’s not sure what to do about it right now, but he knows they’ll have to talk eventually. 

David returns with a fresh bottle of water for Patrick and a plastic cup of something fizzy for himself. “Want to stretch before I sit back down?”

But Patrick is stiff, and sore, and is sort of afraid that he’s going to scream a little when he finally stands up. While stretching now might make it better later, he just can’t do it. “No, still good.”

David slides his way back into his seat.

“What did you get?”

“Ginger ale. I always used to like to get it on flights. If vodka wasn’t an option.”

“No vodka available this morning?” Patrick jokes. “You could have a Bloody Mary.”

Something flickers over David’s face. “Not in the mood, I suppose.”

Patrick stores that away for a later conversation and tries to settle himself in his seat.

“Still hurting? Anything I can-” David sees the look on Patrick’s face and cuts himself off. “Sorry. Too much, I know.”

“No, it’s all right. It’s just gonna hurt for a while, you know?”

“Maybe. But I don’t have to like it.”

Patrick feels a rush of affection for David, one he hasn’t felt in years, and it warms him deep inside. He takes David’s hand and weaves their fingers together, then leans back, closes his eyes, and tries to doze his way through the rest of the flight.

After what seems like forever they land, and Patrick manages to hobble out of his seat and off the plane. He does start to feel better once he gets moving, but he doesn’t object when David take over luggage duty, tugging Patrick’s bag off of the carousel. There are a few trying moments when David’s suitcase is late showing up, but eventually they drag themselves and their belongings out to the waiting area and into an Uber.

Patrick finds himself staring again as David effortlessly loads their luggage into the trunk of the car – he knows his own bag is way too heavy, but David hardly notices, chatting away with the Uber driver. David looks up and catches him staring, and Patrick feels his cheeks warm.

He gives in when David climbs into the car next to him, and runs a hand up David’s arm to his shoulder. His muscles are more defined than they used to be. “You’ve been working out,” he says, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Well, when you reach a certain age and want to maintain your appearance, there aren’t many options,” David says breezily, but Patrick can tell he’s pleased. 

“I’m impressed.”

David gives Patrick one of his crunched-up smiles, dimples even making a brief appearance, and Patrick knocks their knees together. 

It’s like a drug, he thinks, being with David again. Everything seems easier, more fun and less dreary. Of course, being in the Florida sunshine doesn’t hurt, but even the palm trees don’t raise Patrick’s spirits like one sideways smile from David Rose.

The drug metaphor proves its relevance when they finally arrive at the house, and Patrick stumbles as he gets out of the car, coming down. David is at his side in an instant, leaving their suitcases in the driveway as he supports Patrick with an arm around his waist and helps him inside.

“I think I’d better lie down for a while,” Patrick says, and David nods as he looks around.

“Where to?”

Patrick had tried to figure this out earlier, but hadn’t really come to any conclusions. His parents’ retirement home is a style common to this part of Florida, one of many similar homes in a neighborhood filled with snowbirds fleeing to warmer weather every winter. It’s got a master bedroom, a second bedroom with a queen bed that Patrick used on his visits, and a small third room that his parents treat as an office and a spot for their lonely treadmill. 

Either Patrick takes his parents’ room and gives David his own, or puts David in his parents’ room. Neither solution seems perfect, but then again he’s not about to make David sleep on the pull-out couch in the office.

Patrick leads David down the hall and pauses in front of the door to his room. David has been glancing into doorways and smirks at Patrick when they stop.

“It’s a bit of a dilemma, isn’t it?”

Patrick snorts. “Somebody’s got to sleep in there.” He nods towards his parents’ room. “They haven’t been here since last April. It really shouldn’t matter.”

David sticks his head into the second bedroom. “I’ll take this one, you take the king. You’re injured.”

Patrick nods, and then feels a pang of disappointment – had he wanted David to suggest sharing a room? Yeah, he realizes, he sort of had. Well, time enough for that, assuming David doesn’t head right back to the airport once they start to talk for real about what ended their relationship.

He climbs into bed, reassures David that he doesn’t need anything else, and falls asleep before he even has a chance to remind David to bring their luggage inside.

When Patrick wakes up, the whole afternoon is gone. His suitcase is set out on the other side of the bed, saving him the trouble of having to bend over to get to it. He finds his toiletry kit and fresh clothes and shuffles into the bathroom. 

Before he can get into the shower, he has to deal with his injuries. He peels the bandage on his head away slowly, relieved to see that the redness around his stitches is fading. Unwrapping his ribs is painful, but not unmanageable. Carefully, he eases himself into the shower, and stands under the hot water until it starts to cool.

Clean and dressed in a white t-shirt and joggers, he makes his way out of the bedroom, a little nervous. He put a new bandage on his head, to cover the stitches, but it would be silly to put his hat back on. David’s just going to have to deal with it.

David is standing at the kitchen island, tossing what looks like a Caesar salad. There’s a platter with some sliced chicken breast, and a bowl of strawberries. He glances quickly at Patrick, his eyes widening a little at the sight of his head, but he doesn’t comment.

“What’s all this?” Patrick asks, looking at the spread.

David shakes his head dismissively. “I heard you get into the shower, so I figured I’d get dinner ready.”

“But – where did the food come from?”

David’s mouth curls up at the side. “I think here in the States they call it a supermarket. You can come with me next time, it’s pretty remarkable.”

“Very funny.” Patrick takes a plate and helps himself. “This looks great, David. Thank you.”

David nods, pleased by the compliment.

“I take it you found the car keys, then?” Patrick’s parents bought a used Camry specifically to leave here and use when they visit. 

“Yeah, they were very carefully hidden in the glove box.”

Patrick groans, and David smiles at him, and Patrick is suddenly torn between eating this very lovely looking salad and kissing David senseless. Since there’s a fork full of romaine on its way to his mouth, he decides that the kissing will have to wait until later.

They spend what’s left of the evening on the couch, browsing through Netflix until they land on a new cooking show neither of them have seen before. Patrick tries not to think about watching television back in his apartment in Schitt’s Creek, David stretched out with his head in Patrick’s lap while they planned a wedding that never happened.

“Want some popcorn?” David asks after a while. He’s been fidgeting over on his side of the couch, and Patrick figures it’s just as well to give him something to do.

“Sure.”

“What kind?”

“What are my options?”

David goes into the kitchen, which is separated from the living area only by the island, and opens a cabinet. “Microwave movie theater butter, or kettle corn. Also some of that cheese stuff you like.”

Apparently David’s shopping trip had been thorough. “Smartfood?”

“Um, yes.” David doesn’t like cheese popcorn because of the way the coating sticks on his fingers, and threatens his knits.

“Kettle corn, please,” Patrick requests. 

David ducks his head and smiles. Kettle corn is David’s favorite, as they both know.

David sits a little closer to Patrick this time, the popcorn bowl on his lap, positioned so they can both reach it. When they polish it off, David puts the bowl on the coffee table and then clasps his hands together, turning to Patrick.

“So, um, I know this has all been rather, well, sudden, and I was thinking that maybe we should talk about-” David starts, but Patrick cuts him off.

“Actually, could we not do this tonight?” His words come out abruptly, and he winces.

“Oh.” David straightens and shifts. “Of course. That’s fine, it’s been a long day.”

Patrick hates that he shut him down, that he rejected David’s brave and healthy attempt to treat their relationship like the fragile thing that it is. He fixes his gaze on the television, expecting David to excuse himself and go to bed.

But he doesn’t. David’s arm comes up and around Patrick, slowly, giving Patrick plenty of time to decline, and then settles gently, David’s fingers stroking the side of Patrick’s neck. Patrick closes his eyes and leans his head on David’s shoulder, trying to feel like he deserves this.

They have been given an unexpected chance to right the wrongs that led to their breakup. But Patrick knows that he hasn’t done his part yet. And what he said to David in Milwaukee might have even made it worse. Patrick didn’t lie, but he didn’t exactly tell the whole truth. And he’s petrified that when it comes out, David might not be willing to brave the alligators for him anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

David says goodnight with a quick peck to Patrick’s cheek, and shuts himself in the hall bathroom, ostensibly to shower before bed. But before that he spends a while leaning his palms against the sink and taking slow, deep breaths in and out, trying to steady himself.

It’s been one of the most uncomfortable days of his life, and given his life, that’s really saying something. Within the past twenty-four hours he told Patrick he still loved him, Patrick said that he wanted them to be together, and a crowd of sleep-deprived strangers in the Milwaukee airport security line cheered as they kissed. Since then, David has felt like he has been walking a tightrope, waiting for his balance to fail him and send him crashing to the ground.

David knows that he can’t expect their relationship to snap back together like a puzzle, connected and perfect like it shines in his memory, at least not without some awkwardness along the way. And Patrick is injured and hurting, understandably not at his best. Even with all that, though, he can’t shake the feeling that something else is wrong.

He sits on the closed toilet and checks his phone. This afternoon he finally texted Alexis to tell her that he was in Florida with Patrick, which, not surprisingly, resulted in a flurry of messages. He really wants to talk to her and hear her voice, but the house isn’t that big and he doesn’t want Patrick to overhear him voice all his insecurities. Maybe he’ll call her when he goes out for a run tomorrow morning.

Alexis has apparently told his parents, who have sent both encouraging (his dad) and vaguely foreboding (his mom) well wishes. David sends back polite responses, not wanting to get into a detailed back and forth with either of them. Then he spends a few minutes sending instructions to his assistant purchaser at the motel group, and emails the director of operations to let him know that he’ll be taking a week off. It’s not as if he can’t work remotely, but he’d like to have the freedom to spend the time with Patrick, and he’s got plenty of vacation time saved up. At least taking care of this item on his mental list quiets his work-related anxiety for the time being.

Just a little while ago, sitting on the couch with Patrick, David had tried to raise the topic of exactly what they would be doing here in Clint and Marcy’s little retirement fantasy home, but Patrick had rebuffed his attempt. David doesn’t even know if Patrick has a job. Patrick only stayed in Schitt’s Creek for a few months after their break-up, and David’s pretty sure he took a consulting gig after that, but Stevie was light on the details.

As he thinks of Stevie, David’s fingers automatically find her name on his phone, and he considers filling her in, but he’s not sure how she’ll take it. His break-up with Patrick had caused a rift in his relationship with Stevie, one David has never been able to fully repair. Because of Stevie’s role in the motel group they kept working together, but they were never as close again as they used to be.

Stevie stayed in touch with Patrick, at least for a while, but they don’t talk about him. David didn’t press; he wasn’t entitled to know more. He plays out in his head Stevie’s likely reaction to the news of their reunion, and given all that he still doesn’t know about what’s going to happen, he decides not to contact her yet. He’d like to talk to Patrick about it first. He’d like to talk to Patrick about a lot of things. 

David absolutely doesn’t mind spending time taking care of Patrick, like he did today. In another context, he would cherish it, being able to show the love of his life how much he cares. He knows Patrick is in pain, and not just from his wounds. It makes David physically ill to imagine what happened to him. He hopes Patrick is able to share more details with him sometime soon; he shouldn’t have to bear it alone.

David tries not to believe that Patrick’s distance today was some kind of test – he doesn’t think it was. Intentional or not, though, something is definitely off. 

More than anything, David wants to reestablish their old connection. He felt it a few times, sparking across the distance like electricity, but mostly Patrick hadn’t seemed open to letting him in. They had been more in tune sitting in the darkened food court at the airport than they were on the couch this evening.

David sighs and stands up, opening the bathroom cabinets and poking around to see what kind of products the Brewers have on hand. He’s pleasantly surprised to see the Rose Apothecary label on the shampoo and conditioner, body milk and cleanser. While the newer items aren’t quite the same quality as the originals he and Patrick had first sourced (quality gave way a little bit to quantity, and price), they are still products David is proud to have his name on.

David spends a long time in the shower, which does make him feel marginally better. He towels off his hair, leaving styling to the morning, and scoots into the bedroom he’s staying in. He hasn’t unpacked yet, so he opens his suitcase up on the floor and finds clean boxer briefs. Unfortunately, the rest of his clothes really need to be laundered; he had thought he’d be back in Toronto yesterday evening, not on a spur of the moment trip to the land of sunshine and tourists.

He frowns as he pulls on a wrinkled black t-shirt and soft gray sleep pants. Regardless of what else happens tomorrow, he’s going to have to do his laundry.

The air conditioning comes on with an annoying whir, and David looks around, spotting a vent in the ceiling. The noise doesn’t bode well for getting any sleep tonight, although there’s nothing wrong with the rest of the room. While ostensibly Patrick’s, the bedroom has very few personal items in it, maybe in case the Brewers decided to rent out the house. The bureau drawers are mostly empty except for swim trunks and some sweatshirts, and the closet contains one windbreaker, two pairs of sneakers, and a vacuum cleaner.

There’s a fluffy white duvet on the bed, with a seafoam green sheet and matching pillowcases peeking out underneath. Not a very Patrick color-scheme. Marcy must have been going for some kind of Florida feel. David feels lucky the whole place isn’t covered in a Hawaiian flower print, although that would probably be more practical than white if they anticipate having strangers using their linens. The whole concept of renting out one’s home makes David cringe, although it’s no worse than living in a motel.

David climbs under the blanket and top sheet and closes his eyes. He makes himself stay there as the air conditioning cycles on and off two more times, and then gives up.

The house is quiet as David wanders around, taking a closer look at the rooms he saw earlier today. There are a few framed photographs on the desk in the office. The one of Patrick seems to be relatively recent, him and his dad outdoors. Patrick’s smiling, but he doesn’t look happy. There aren’t any of David and Patrick together, for obvious and yet still painful reasons. 

David wonders what happened to all their mementos from Patrick’s apartment – the posters from Cabaret and the Apothecary’s open mic night, the ticket from the ropes course that they stuck on the refrigerator with a magnet. It would be nice to think that they are still boxed up safe somewhere, not tossed in the dumpster behind Bob’s Garage.

The open plan kitchen and living room is nice enough, and the couch is comfortable, covered in a safe tan twill with throw pillows in shades of white and blue. David draws the curtains open and looks out through the sliding glass doors to the back yard with its screened-in pool and lanai.

With a shudder, David reminds himself that the screens are to keep the alligators out. David knows this because he read it online this afternoon, waiting for Patrick to wake up from his nap. When David told Patrick he would brave the alligators for him, David imagined that this was only a theoretical danger, or perhaps one to be encountered on a wildlife tour of some kind, not one he would have to face every time he left the house to get the mail.

David messes around with the light switches by the door, and finds one that turns on a spotlight under the water in the pool. It’s pretty, lighting up the water and bathing the back yard in a gentle glow.

“It’s a little chilly for a swim,” Patrick says behind him, making him jump. The wall-to-wall carpet is thick, and apparently Patrick hasn’t lost his ability to sneak up on David.

“Oh god, sorry, did I wake you?” Maybe flashing the lights wasn’t such a smart idea.

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep anyway.” Patrick turns his face up towards David, and David is convinced that he’s going to kiss him, his heart racing in eager anticipation. But Patrick’s face shifts into sadness, and he looks away.

“Patrick?” David reaches out and touches his fingers to Patrick’s bare arm. “What’s wrong?” He doesn’t say “besides the obvious,” because he can tell that it really isn’t necessary. And he thinks Patrick wouldn’t have come out here if he wasn’t ready to talk about whatever he’s been holding back.

“I have to tell you something,” Patrick says, crossing his arms over his chest and then, noticing, deliberately uncrossing them. 

“Okay…”

Patrick bites his lip. “I’m afraid to say it.”

David feels a shiver run through him. “You’re afraid?”

“Yeah.” Patrick looks defeated.

“Why?”

Patrick shakes his head and turns away from David, leaning on the back of an armchair. “Because you’ll leave. And I don’t want you to go.”

David closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Obviously I don’t want me to go either, Patrick. That’s why I’m here.” He tugs at Patrick’s shoulder, turning him so he can see his face. “I promise I won’t go anywhere. But if you take much longer to tell me, we may well have a panic attack situation here on top of everything else, and I’d really rather not add that to today’s list of events.”

Patrick stares at him, eyes wide, and David just wants to take him in his arms and tell him everything will be all right. But it’s clear that Patrick can’t be so easily convinced, and frankly, until David knows what the hell is going on, David isn’t so sure himself.

Patrick moves to the couch, and David follows him, sitting on the coffee table and putting his hands on Patrick’s knees.

“I didn’t cheat,” Patrick says, and David frowns.

“I know that now. You said so yesterday. I believe you.”

“I didn’t cheat,” Patrick says again, “but I think Mark wanted me to. He was flirting with me, and I didn’t stop him.”

“You’re cute. People flirt with you, there’s not much you can do about it.”

Patrick looks at him briefly and then away. “I could have not flirted back.”

David digs around in his head for the right thing to say, but all of the sex-positive, trusting relationship language he comes up with sounds hollow in the context of Patrick’s guilt-laden confession.

“Well, um, harmless flirting isn’t a big deal. It’s nice to feel wanted,” he tries.

“David. It wasn’t harmless.”

“What do you mean?”

Patrick peels David’s hands off his knees and takes them in his own. “It wasn’t harmless because it hurt you. It hurt us.”

“But if I had known you didn’t mean anything by it-”

“That’s just it, you didn’t know. Because I didn’t tell you. I wouldn’t have felt so guilty about it if there was nothing wrong with it. I wouldn’t have worked so hard to hide it. At the same time we were planning our wedding, I was creating an opportunity to let another man flirt with me. I knew if you met Mark you’d suspect something. I told him to come to the store for training when I knew you’d be out visiting vendors.”

Patrick’s practically babbling now, his words tumbling out. It’s so unlike Patrick’s usual calm demeanor, it makes what he’s saying even more unsettling.

David struggles to find an angle where Patrick’s behavior is okay. He’s done it before, made excuses for partners who toed or crossed the line, but he doesn’t know how to do it with Patrick. He slowly pulls his hands out of Patrick’s and stands up, stepping backwards with a hand over his mouth.

“I’m so sorry,” Patrick says. “Please, don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere. Just give me a minute.” David feels ill, but he knows there has to be a way through this. His mind is spinning, but he’s not leaving, he’s not, he’s going to figure this out. “Were you planning on – doing anything with him?”

There’s a moment when David thinks Patrick is going to say yes, yes, I wanted him to kiss me, but then Patrick is in front of him, his face open and vulnerable. “No, absolutely not.”

“Were you having some kind of… naughty cheating fantasy?”

“No,” Patrick says firmly. “You remember the Ken incident. I didn’t want anyone else. Then or now.”

“And yet…”

“I know,” Patrick says, reaching out to wrap his hands gently over David’s biceps. “I can’t explain it.”

They stand there in the dark kitchen, both of them breathing heavily. Patrick slides his arms around David and pulls him in, until David’s head is resting on his shoulder. David lets Patrick hold him, comforted by his touch even now. 

“I’m so sorry, David. I thought about it so many times, after you left. I convinced myself that I didn’t cheat – and I didn’t, not physically. But what I did wasn’t _right,_ either. It felt wrong to me, and you picked up on that, and that’s why you thought I was cheating.”

“But what you said in the airport-” David’s voice catches, and he has to stop and suck in a breath. “You made it seem like it was all my fault.”

“That was not my proudest moment.” 

David forces himself to straighten up and step away from Patrick, wrapping his arms around his own body. Patrick holds his gaze, tears streaking his cheeks. Patrick lied to him – maybe not three years ago, when David didn’t give him a chance to explain, but just last night, in the airport. _But he’s telling the truth now,_ David thinks. He’s put all his cards on the table, and he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop - for David to leave. To give up on them.

But the thing is, David doesn’t want to drop the shoe. He doesn’t want this to be the end. He’s not done with Patrick – he tried that, and it was the worst decision he ever made. 

Patrick isn’t just another one of David’s exes. He’s not someone who was willing to take and take from David and never give in return. David simply can’t believe that of Patrick. It’s not who he is. Patrick gave David everything.

“If when I confronted you that day, back at the store, I had let you explain,” David says carefully, “we’d essentially be right here, wouldn’t we?” 

Patrick’s eyes widen, and he nods. “Well, not in Florida, but, yeah. More or less.”

“So…” David closes his eyes and lets himself feel, the pain and the hope and the love, all whirling around in his chest. “If that’s the case,” he opens his eyes and reaches for Patrick, his hands landing on his shoulders, “then we can just start from here, minus the overreacting, and figure it out.”

Patrick chokes out a wet laugh. “We can?”

“I think so. I’d like that.” David watches Patrick’s eyes as they light up.

“David, I’d really like that too.”

David leans in, cupping his hand around Patrick’s head and bringing him close for a tear-stained kiss. David’s not sure that the odds are great for them this time around, but if there’s any chance at all, David’s going to take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger on the last chapter! This ending of this one is a little less fraught, but I'm afraid the angst isn't over yet...


	4. Chapter 4

David kisses him so tenderly Patrick feels like he’s going to melt. It’s a lot, this forgiveness, after a long day of worrying that his confession was going to send David running again. Patrick breaks the kiss and pulls David into a tight hug, burying his face against David’s neck.

David rubs his back and sniffles a little bit. “Well, now that that’s settled, I suppose I’ll cancel my flight for tomorrow.”

“What?” Patrick pulls back and stares at David. “You already booked a flight for-” He realizes his mistake, and breaks into a choked laugh. “Asshole.”

David looks almost bashful, ducking his head and running his hands up and down Patrick’s arms. “I actually told work I’m taking the week off.”

Patrick searches David’s face, which is touchingly vulnerable. “Yeah? That’s good.”

“Do you, um, want to let me in on your plans?” David asks. “Because I know you didn’t want to talk about it before, but I do kind of have to let people know where I’ll be after that.”

With a rush, Patrick remembers that the two of them know precious little about each other’s lives. Patrick doesn’t even know where David lives, although he assumes it is somewhere in the vicinity of Toronto. But even that is just a guess.

“I’m sorry I blew you off earlier when you asked about that,” Patrick says.

“It’s okay,” David replies, not even going for the joke. 

“I was sort of preoccupied,” Patrick goes on. 

“You were afraid I was going to run again,” David says plainly.

Patrick hesitates, but then admits it. “I was. Not that you wouldn’t have been entitled to, but-” Patrick’s not sure how to finish this sentence and keep the fragile peace they have found.

David takes in a long breath, which turns into a jaw-cracking yawn. He half-smiles at Patrick, abashed. “As much as I really do want to talk about this-” he waves his hand between the two of them, “I think my body has finally realized how little sleep it’s gotten in the past few days.”

“You need your beauty rest,” Patrick says, agreeing.

David doesn’t seem to take this as a compliment, shaking his head dismissively. “I’m just tired.”

“No, of course, you’re right,” Patrick says. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

This call-back to Patrick’s line so many years ago causes David to quirk a hint of a smile, and Patrick lets out a breath, hopeful that they have made it over at least this particular hurdle. As they head down the hall, he reaches out and takes David’s hand, leading him into the larger bedroom.

David pauses as they go inside, giving Patrick a questioning look. 

“I’d really, really like it if you stayed in here with me,” Patrick says. He wishes he had a better argument, a way to explain it, but he just wants David near. He wants the smell of his skin, and the warmth of his body. It’s an ache that won’t go away. 

Patrick has been without David for so long, and now that he’s been reminded of what it’s like to be in his presence, he doesn’t want to give it up. Not even while he’s asleep.

“You sure?” David asks, and it gives him a sad sense of déjà vu, back to when David hadn’t learned to trust Patrick’s interest in him, at the very start of their relationship when David seemed to think it was just a matter of time before Patrick grew bored.

Patrick catches David’s gaze and pours his heart into his words. “Very sure.”

David gives Patrick one of his sideways, _I can’t help it_ smiles, and follows Patrick into the room. There’s a moment of awkwardness as they settle under the covers, Patrick’s ribs protesting as he positions himself on his side facing David.

“That doesn’t look comfortable,” David says, frowning. “Shouldn’t you be propping yourself up with pillows or something?”

Patrick doesn’t like thinking about being in the hospital, poked and prodded and asked to tell his story over and over, but he did make a point of remembering his discharge instructions. “They told me it wouldn’t matter, that I might need to sleep more upright for the first few nights, but if I wasn’t having breathing problems I could do whatever I wanted.”

This doesn’t satisfy David. “Okay, I wasn’t even thinking about breathing problems. Are you doing any breathing exercises? Should you be doing them now, before you go to sleep?”

“What do you know about breathing exercises?” Patrick asks, annoyed as he realizes what’s going through David’s head. “Have you been researching broken ribs?”

David sits up. “Yes. Anything wrong with that?”

Patrick presses a hand over his face, a wave of embarrassment running through him at the thought of David surfing the web reading about sleeping positions, and how to clutch a pillow to your chest to cough, and making sure to take deep breaths throughout the day to keep mucus out of your lungs. 

“Hey,” David says softly, scooting closer and putting a hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “It’s okay.” David gently shifts Patrick on to his back, and settles close to him, one hand lightly resting on his arm. “This should help keep you still, so you don’t hurt yourself during the night,” David says, his voice barely above a whisper. “If you need me to move, just let me know.”

Patrick’s still got his hand over his eyes, and he feels David press a kiss to his forehead, carefully avoiding his stitches. He wants to say something, to tell David he’s fine and he doesn’t have to worry, but the truth is that his ribs hurt like crazy, and his head is aching, and David’s gentle touch is making him want to cry.

“Shhh,” David says, his arm reaching over to cradle Patrick. “You’re okay. You’re safe. It’s all right.”

Patrick doesn’t know if David can tell that Patrick is still feeling that booted foot landing on his chest, still hearing Jamie yelling for help. If David knows that it isn’t just physical pain that’s got Patrick tied up in knots. He thinks that he does, as David continues to stroke his arm, and murmur tender reassurances. 

When Patrick had allowed himself to imagine getting back together with David, it generally featured hot and heavy sex, maybe passionately tearing each other’s clothes off, not David comforting Patrick as hot tears slipped down his face. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and he can feel David shaking his head against his cheek.

“Mmm, no, don’t apologize,” David says. “It’s okay. I’m here now. You’re okay.”

As if something deep inside him was waiting for permission, Patrick starts crying in earnest, clutching at his stomach as his ribs protest. David holds him and strokes his back, and Patrick can tell how hard he’s trying not to panic himself by the way his voice rises as he tells Patrick over and over that it’s all right.

Finally, Patrick is able to catch his breath. He opens his eyes to see David watching him.

“Patrick,” David says, his throat tight. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?” David’s still wrapped around him, holding him together, and Patrick realizes he’s soaked the neckline of David’s shirt with his tears and possibly other unmentionable fluids.

Patrick blows out a long breath and braces himself to sit up, David trying to help. “A tissue?” he asks. “And a do-over?”

David darts up and comes back with the box of tissues from the bathroom and a glass of water. He perches on the side of the bed while Patrick blows his nose, and helps Patrick with the glass, taking it back and setting it carefully on the nightstand after Patrick gulps the water down.

Patrick’s head is still pounding, but he doesn’t think he can stay awake even long enough to think about taking more pain pills. He lets David pull the covers up around them, and holds out an arm for David to carefully curl up next to him.

“I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary,” David says, just as Patrick begins to drift off.

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“No do-over necessary,” David says. “You’re doing fine.”

Patrick snorts. “Hardly how I wanted to celebrate getting back together.”

David finds Patrick’s hand and rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “We’ll go get a giant cookie tomorrow if you insist,” David says. 

“Ha ha ha.”

David brushes a gentle kiss to Patrick’s lips. “I’m here with you,” David says, his voice filled with emotion. “I don’t need anything else.”

Patrick breathes deep, despite his aching ribs, and falls asleep surrounded by the warmth of the person he loves most in the world.

*****  
Patrick wakes up slowly to bright sun shining in around the edges of the window shades. It takes a moment to remember he’s in Florida, and then suddenly it all comes back to him – the airport, and _David,_ and, less pleasantly, Patrick’s breakdown last night in bed.

He reaches out but can tell immediately that David isn’t there. There’s a split second of stomach dropping panic as Patrick wonders where David went, but then his hand lands on an oversized post-it note stuck to his phone.

_Went for a run. Be back soon. XO_

Patrick feels almost giddy with relief, and stares up at the ceiling grinning like an idiot. His brain skates right over the “run” part of David’s message, and focuses on the end – “Be back soon. XO.” He remembers leaving little notes for David in the early days of their relationship, always with a little “XO” at the end. David always tutted at him for acting like a middle school kid with a crush, but the notes made him blush prettily and Patrick kept it up for months. He’s not sure why he stopped.

Patrick carefully sits up, stiff and aching, and gets out of bed. He takes David’s note with him into the bathroom, running his fingers over the words. He wants to keep it, as solid proof that David Rose is actually back in his life, but he’s not ready to fold it up small and stuff it into his wallet. Instead he sticks it on the mirror, where he’ll be able to see it as soon as he gets out of the shower. Just in case he starts to wonder, again, if this is really happening.

He lets the warm water relax his muscles as he tries not to overthink whatever it is that has brought David back to him. It’s tempting to call it fate, given how very unlikely it was that he and David would wind up in the same place at the same time, especially when that place happened to be the Milwaukee airport. It’s not even a usual hub for connecting flights to stop between New York and Toronto – Detroit is much more common.

After he showers he stares at himself in the mirror, his eyes flickering back and forth between his image (the bruise on his temple turning yellowish-green, the skin around his stitches hardly red at all and not even worth a covering bandage) and the note from David with its little “XO.” The two don’t seem to go together, yet, somehow, they do. Kind of like what people thought about him and David.  


He shaves and towels off, padding into the bedroom, hoping to hear David out in the kitchen. But the house is still quiet. He gets dressed, pulling a blue button-up and jeans out of his suitcase, and wanders into the other bedroom.

The bed is neatly made, the white duvet fluffed and arranged carefully over the ocean-colored pillowcases. David always insisted on making his bed, even back at the motel, which made sense given that it was their living space as well as his bedroom. He still doesn’t know how David and Alexis survived in that room together for so long, although he envies the closeness that came out of it.  


The closet door is open, and it clearly contains items not belonging to anyone in the Brewer family – David’s leather jacket and heavy black boots. Patrick feels a little creepy looking at David’s things, especially when he sees that his suitcase is mostly empty, except for a few carefully folded sweaters, and starts opening drawers to see what else David brought.  


But the drawers only hold some of Patrick’s spare clothes, from a trip last winter to visit his parents. The mystery is solved when Patrick hears the ping from the washing machine in the hall bathroom. He wonders how early David woke up, and if he did anything else besides his laundry before he headed out.  


Patrick helps himself to a cup of coffee from the half-empty pot in the kitchen and glances at his phone, realizing that David must have been gone for over an hour. For the first time, it sinks in that David is apparently out _exercising,_ and not only that, he was up long before ten o’clock in the morning. What happened to the “I don’t do well with running,” not-a-morning-person David Rose he used to know?  


As if in answer to his question, Patrick hears the front door open. David comes in, sweaty and still breathing a little heavily. “Hi,” David says, making a beeline for the sink and pouring himself a glass of water, which he drinks down in a few long gulps.  


Patrick can’t tear his eyes away from David’s body. His damp t-shirt clings to his chest, which seems to have gotten broader since Patrick last saw him. His waist is trimmer, too, and the thigh muscles revealed by his silky running shorts are more defined.  


David catches him looking, but instead of a pleased blush he just looks embarrassed.  


“David,” Patrick says, stepping closer, “you look great.”  


David grimaces. “No, I’m disgusting.” He tries to slide past Patrick and back down the hall, but Patrick stops him with a hand on his arm.  


“David.” Patrick knows it’s not the time to be flirty, but he can’t let David think for one more moment that he is anything less than beautiful. “You look _great,_ ” he repeats, holding David’s gaze.  


David still has trouble accepting it, but he purses his lips and blinks at Patrick. “Thank you. Now, let me take a shower, and tell me that again when I’m clean.”  


“Will do.”  


David starts to move off down the hallway, then turns back and sighs. “I don’t have a single clean shirt left. Can I borrow one of yours?”  


Patrick hates that David even has to ask. There was a time that David tried out Patrick’s clothes like a kid playing dress-up, even wearing one of his much-maligned button-downs to that job interview with Stevie. It amused them both to no end to watch David acting out the roles that he associated with Patrick’s staid Gap purchases.  


The times that Patrick tried on David’s clothes are even more treasured in Patrick’s memory. He won’t ever forget the look on David’s face when Patrick put on a skirt. They fell into bed and fucked like rabbits, never even making it out the door.  


“Of course, everything’s still in my suitcase,” Patrick says, pushing aside the memories. “Take whatever you want.”  


David nods his thanks and disappears into the bathroom.


	5. Chapter 5

David takes his time showering and doing his hair. He had thought that his run would center him, but all it took was one quick conversation with Patrick to knock him off balance.  


He wishes he could put his own clothes back on, but since everything he brought with him is either in the wash or soaked in sweat, it’s not an option. Tying a towel around his waist, he goes into the bedroom and looks through Patrick’s suitcase. He allows himself a satisfying eye roll at the contents – the expected button-downs in shades of blue and green, jeans that probably won’t even fit David, and a few plain t-shirts and pairs of khaki shorts. David sighs and selects briefs, shorts, and an olive green t-shirt, a nondescript fashion choice that would make his mother weep. At least he’ll only have to wear them for an hour or so until his own clothes come out of the dryer.

He finds Patrick in the kitchen, hovering next to the island.

“I made eggs,” Patrick says, sliding a plate towards him.

“Thanks.” The eggs are just like David likes them, with a sprinkle of salt and pepper, and a piece of toast on the side. David recognizes the wheat bread he bought yesterday on his trip to the grocery store, somewhat bland but decent enough given the heaping of butter Patrick has spread on it.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, until the stress of it is too much for David to take.

“These are good.”

“It’s just scrambled, we didn’t have any cheese-”

“I can go to the store again, I didn’t know what you’d want-”

“You don’t have to do that,” Patrick says. “You didn’t have to go in the first place.”

“So I shouldn’t have?”

“No, no, it was great that you did…” Patrick catches David’s gaze, and they both sigh. “Why is this so awkward?” Patrick asks, taking their now empty plates and putting them in the sink.

“I don’t know, maybe because it’s been a long time, and things are different, and we both want everything to work out? But there’s no guarantee.” David stands up and waves his hands at the neat little kitchen and the safe tan sofa with its blue and white pillows and the “Home Sweet Home” sign on the wall with an outline of the state of Florida. He’s not sure he’s ever felt so out of place. “And this is not somewhere I ever expected to be, and I really don’t know what to do with it.”

Patrick nods, that sadness coming over his face again, and it makes David want to strangle someone. Not Patrick, never Patrick. But whoever was responsible for taking his good, decent button and making him sad.

 _It was you, you asshole,_ his unhelpful brain tells him, and isn’t that just the worst.

“Want to see the pool?” Patrick asks, and although David can see it perfectly well from here, he figures it can’t hurt. At least the screens will keep the alligators away.

They go outside, and the warmth of the sunshine surprises David. It’s gotten hotter even in the past hour since he was outside. It may be late November, but this part of the world hasn’t gotten the message. He wanders over to the pool and dips his toes in, then sits down by the steps in the shallow end and puts his feet in the water.

Patrick comes over and lowers himself to the concrete, David reaching out automatically to give him something to brace himself against. When Patrick starts to put his feet in David stops him with a hand to his ankle, carefully rolling up one leg of his jeans and then the other. David’s knuckles brush against the wiry hairs on Patrick’s leg as he neatly cuffs each pant leg. He wants to roll Patrick’s shirt sleeves up, too, reveal more of his lovely forearms, but it seems a step too far.

“Thanks.”

“Wet jeans are an abomination,” David comments.

“Kind of like you wearing my khaki shorts?” Patrick’s mouth quirks up in an attempt at a smile, and David’s heart lifts.

“Nice. Just a few minutes ago you said I looked good.”

The hint of a smile disappears, as David’s words fail to land the way he meant. “I’m sorry, David, am I supposed to apologize for that? I don’t understand why it upset you. You do look good. Clearly you’ve been working out – aren’t you allowed to be pleased with the outcome?”

David squeezes his eyes closed and leans his head back. “Yes? But…” He’s not sure how to explain it. “It’s not about vanity, or, appearance. I know that probably sounds fake, coming from me,” he opens his eyes and looks at Patrick, who is gazing back as patient and open as ever, “but it’s true.”

“Okay,” Patrick says, clearly waiting for David to fill in the blanks. David had hoped a discussion about this particular part of his recent history could have been put off, possibly indefinitely, but it’s feeling like one of those moments when he’ll regret it if he brushes it off again. And maybe opening up will get Patrick to do the same.

“I was pretty depressed, after we broke up,” David says, running the tips of his fingers through the water, watching the ripples spread across the surface of the pool. “Couldn’t get out of bed, lost interest in everything… you know how it goes.” He’s not sure Patrick does, but he can’t help but try to make light of it, as awful as it was. It’s hard to really focus on those months, the drag of gray haze that wouldn’t clear. “Eventually I started seeing a therapist.”

“You mentioned that,” Patrick says, and David relaxes a fraction, because he had forgotten. Maybe this won’t be that hard, then. It hasn’t chased Patrick away yet. 

“Right. Well, he recommended a bunch of stuff to try, including exercising regularly, and I resisted at first-”

“Obviously,” Patrick says.

David glares up at Patrick, who’s got his best trolling face on, deliciously familiar, and suddenly spilling his guts doesn’t seem so embarrassing anymore. “Anyway, once I started, it wasn’t so bad. Despite what I once told you about running… it worked for me.” That and laying off the alcohol.

“That’s great, David.”

“Well, Alexis says I just replaced one obsession with another.”

“Is that so bad, when it’s a healthy one?”

“You didn’t have to put up with me when I couldn’t go out for a run because of crappy weather, or inconveniently scheduled vendor meetings.”

There’s a hitch in the rhythm of their banter, and Patrick takes David’s hand in his. “I wish I did. I wish I was there.”

David feels his chest tighten, and he gives Patrick’s hand a squeeze. “Me too.” 

They sit there with their feet in the water, like little kids in a backyard wading pool. There’s no breeze to speak of, but it’s not completely quiet. The sound of the highway a few streets away provides a bit of background noise, and a weird bird keeps making a strangled chirpy sound from a hedge on the side of the house. 

David’s past encounters with Florida involved multi-million-dollar yachts, tanned supermodels, and free-flowing booze and drugs, not this strange version of suburbia. He imagines this house sitting empty for most of the year, waiting for its owners to come and visit. How many of the cookie cutter three-bedrooms in this neighborhood are empty right now? How many swimming pools are noticed only by the staff who come by weekly to clean them and make sure nothing has crawled into the filters and died?

“This water’s probably terrible for your skin,” David says, and Patrick looks at him in mild confusion. “Because of all the chemicals.” 

Patrick shrugs. “I guess.”

“There are chemicals in here, right?”

“I don’t know, which would upset you more – the amount of chlorine dumped in here or the water being left in its natural state?”

David pulls his feet out of the water and stretches his legs to the side, the concrete warm on his heels. “I’m honestly not sure. But maybe we shouldn’t take any chances.”

Patrick stands up, leaning hard on David’s shoulder as he goes. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

David stays put, although now that he’s thinking about what might be in the pool water he wouldn’t mind rinsing off and applying some lotion. Or some hand sanitizer.

Patrick comes back out of the house with an armload of cushions and drops them onto the lounge chairs by the other end of the pool. “Come help me set these up.”

It only takes a moment to unfold the brightly patterned cushions and tie them into place (ah, there’s the Hawaiian floral, David thinks to himself). While David is arranging the loungers to his liking, facing the sun, Patrick comes back with two bottles of water. David twists off the top and rinses his feet while Patrick squawks at him.

“What? Was that not what this was for?” He tries not to smile.

“David. That water was to drink. There’s an outdoor shower over there.” Patrick points to the side of the house, then seems to regret his decision. “But don’t walk out there without shoes, okay?”

“What, will the baby alligators nip at my toes?”

Patrick grins at him. “No, but the fire ants will.”

“What the hell kind of place is this?”

“It’s just nature, David. As long as you wear shoes in the grass, you’ll be fine.”

“I feel like the state of Florida must have had some really good marketing professionals along the way. Alexis should get a job with them. They’ve managed to convince people that this pest-ridden swampland is worth something.”

“Arguably that is kind of what happened. You know Disney World was built on reclaimed swampland, right?”

“I did not know that.”

“Anyway, this neighborhood isn’t all there is. Give me another day to rest up, then I’ll show you around.”

Another day to rest isn’t really going to cut it, David thinks, watching Patrick wince as he eases himself down in the chair. He wonders again what Patrick had in mind when he made his escape to the sunshine state, which brings them right back to the conversation Patrick keeps avoiding.

“Patrick, how long, exactly, are you planning on staying here?” David asks, hoping that the direct approach might actually get him an answer.

Patrick stares up at the sky. “I don’t know.”

Patrick’s hair looks like polished copper in the sunlight, but David tries not to let it distract him. “How much time can you take off from work?” David presses. “Or are you working remotely doing… whatever you are doing now?”

Patrick takes a long gulp from his water bottle, then stares at his feet. “I’m unemployed. I lost my job about a month ago,” he says bitterly.

“Oh.” David is surprised, to say the least, especially by Patrick’s tone. He’s always seemed like he would be the ideal employee, eager to please and determinedly hardworking. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah. Well, after you piss off a major customer, it’s hard to convince your employer to retain you.”

“It can’t have been that bad. I don’t think I can imagine you pissing off a customer.”

“It was, and I did.”

“What on earth did you do?”

“Do you really want to know?”

David sits up and squints at Patrick, no longer enjoying the sun on his face. He doesn’t even have sunglasses with him, a major miscalculation. “Yes, of course.”

Patrick leans back and closes his eyes. “I was working as an account manager at a software company. It was boring as hell. Sales, mostly, skating by with just enough technical knowledge about the product to capture the customer’s interest, and then serving as the liaison between the customer and the tech guys who actually knew what they were doing. But I kept screwing things up, and when the customers would want to know why the contract didn’t have the terms they wanted, or why I was taking so long to get back to them, I just didn’t have the patience to deal with it.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.”

Patrick opens his eyes and looks at David, and he looks almost as bewildered as David is. “No, it doesn’t, does it?”

David has the feeling there’s more to this story, but Patrick doesn’t elaborate, and all David really wants to do is give him a hug. 

“You know, I have a feeling you don’t have an ounce of sunscreen on. You’re going to be bright red if we stay out here any longer.” David stands up and holds out a hand to Patrick, then slides his arm around his back to pull him up. When they’re both upright, he loops his arms around Patrick’s neck and pulls him close.

Patrick presses his face against David’s neck. “I’m a mess, David,” he says, his breath hot on David’s skin. “I don’t know what happened to me.”

“I think we’ve both been a little lost,” David says, holding Patrick tight. “But I know what will fix it.”

“Yeah?” There’s an almost pathetically hopeful note in Patrick’s voice.

“Absolutely.”

“What?”

“Running. Miles of it. Every day. It’s a miracle drug.” David is struggling to keep up his serious tone, and not quite succeeding.

Patrick chokes out a laugh, pressing a hand against his ribs. “I don’t think I’m quite up for running yet.”

“Well fine, then, you’ll just have to watch me do it. It’s almost as good.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Patrick says, and kisses David soundly. David hesitates for a second and then enthusiastically participates, and they are both breathing heavily by the time they pull apart.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what brought that on?” David asks as they go inside, the shade welcome after the bright sunshine. He keeps a hand on Patrick as they go, not so much to make sure he doesn’t fall over but because he doesn’t want to lose this connection, now that he’s found it again.

Patrick takes hold of David’s waist, his eyes on David’s brighter than they’ve looked in days. “You. I thought I was dreaming, sometimes, remembering how much I liked you – loved you, too, but just fucking liked you. But I wasn’t.”

“I’m the best,” David says, half-joking, but there’s a familiar happiness bursting inside his chest.

“You are, David. You really are.”


	6. Chapter 6

There’s a new lightness in the air as they settle back inside the house, David kicking back on the couch while Patrick pokes around in the kitchen. He really does need to make a list and do a real grocery run – although he appreciates David’s efforts to save him the trouble.

David grumbles at his phone and stands up. “Do you mind if I deal with this? There’s a problem with a supplier, it’ll go faster if I just talk to her instead of sending endless e-mails.”

“Of course not, go ahead.”

Patrick watches David head back towards the bedroom, his phone already up to his ear. Patrick’s glad that David is still involved with Rose Apothecary, even if it’s not what it used to be. At least it means that some part of what they created together survived.

Patrick heard about what happened with the store itself from Stevie, how David relocated it near Toronto, but eventually closed down the physical location. Stevie told Patrick that David’s heart didn’t seem to be in it anymore, but now that Patrick knows that David was depressed, he wonders how much Stevie knew. Patrick wouldn’t have been able to do it, either – have the store, but not David. It was always about the two of them together, left brain and right brain working in tandem. If he had to run Rose Apothecary by himself, it would definitely have lost its heart.

Patrick finishes up the grocery list, the act of neatly putting down everything he needs soothing in its own right, and sits down on the couch with a glass of water. He’s tired, again. It seems like he can’t go ten minutes without wanting to lie down. It’s been a week since he was hurt, and he thought he’d feel better by now.

Patrick remembers David scolding him, on the plane, for traveling so soon. He probably has a point, but if Patrick hadn’t decided to get out of town, he wouldn’t have run into David, and that’s worth a lot more than sore ribs.

He leans back on the couch and closes his eyes, wincing as his muscles relax. If he concentrates, he can hear David’s voice as he talks on the phone, the cadence familiar and reassuring.

Patrick wakes up to the tantalizing aroma of garlic sizzling in a pan. He grabs his phone, dismayed to find that it’s almost six o’clock, the whole afternoon having gone by while he napped on the couch.

“Hey there,” David says, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek. “You’re up just in time. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes or so, I was just getting ready to heat the water.

Patrick reaches for David, and David’s face lights up as he sinks onto the couch next to him and pulls him into a hug. “Hi,” Patrick says, still half-asleep. It feels too easy, to have David right here with him, to be breathing into his shoulder like nothing ever went wrong.

“Hi,” David responds, rubbing his palms over Patrick’s back. “Have a good nap?”

“Sorry I slept so much.” He almost resents missing the time with David. Time with David is far more interesting than sleeping.

“Not a problem,” David says. “Gave me the chance to take the Camry out for another spin.”

“Ugh, you did the shopping again?” 

“I did, and thanks, by the way, for the detailed list. Although I’m not sure that you needed to specify back-ups for each of the items. I’m pretty sure I could figure out what brand of tomato sauce to buy if your top choice wasn’t available.”

“That list wasn’t meant for you,” Patrick grumbles. “I just like having a plan.”

“I know, sweetheart, I know.” David kisses Patrick again, and stands up despite Patrick’s grabby hands. It feels so good to have David close to him, he doesn’t want to let go. “You go freshen up while I finish, if I don’t get the water going it’ll be forever until we can eat.”

Patrick uses the bathroom and puts some after-sun lotion on his face, where a bit of color is just appearing on his nose and cheeks. It doesn’t take much. He needs to remember to use sunscreen down here, or else he’s going to turn into a lobster.

When he comes out, David is working on the Bolognese, and there’s a large pot of water heating on the stove. 

“That smells great,” Patrick says, leaning around David to check out the sauce. He lets his hand linger on David’s waist. David has put on a pair of his own black jeans, but he’s still wearing Patrick’s dark green t-shirt from this morning. It stretches enticingly across David’s shoulders as he stirs the pot.

“You still like this, right?” David asks. “You haven’t become a vegetarian, or anything like that?”

Patrick laughs. “If didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have put the ingredients on the list.” 

David has set out dishes and silverware on the kitchen island where they had their breakfast. The room also has a small round table, but it’s covered in piles of all the junk mail that has been delivered since his parents were last here, and the groceries David bought this afternoon.

There’s a bottle of wine there too, the one Patrick had listed as his top choice on the list he made earlier. It’s an easy to drink table red that he remembered being able to buy when he was visiting his parents last winter, with a very high class screw top. He thinks David will like it, and it will pair well with the tomato sauce.

Patrick opens the bottle and searches around in the cabinets for two matching wine glasses.

“Oh, um, none for me, thanks,” David says as Patrick sets the two glasses down next to their plates.

“You sure? It’s not fancy, but it’s not as bad as Herb’s fruit wine, either.” Patrick is surprised, but not particularly so, not until he turns and sees the deer-in-headlights look on David’s face. “David? You okay?”

“What? Oh, yeah. It’s fine.”

Patrick watches David as he slowly empties the box of pasta into the boiling water, giving the task quite a bit more attention than it needs. Deciding not to push, he screws the cap back on the bottle of red and puts it down on the table, and exchanges the wine glasses for water glasses.

David turns to him, his face scrunched up and pained. “You can have wine.”

“Nah, it’s okay.”

“No, I mean, just because I’m not having any, it’s okay if you do.” 

“I get that, thanks.”

David shakes his head. “So why did you put the wine away?”

“It’s not as much fun if it’s just me.” Patrick realizes that this might not be the best thing to say as soon as the words leave his mouth, but he can’t quite figure out how to fix it. 

After a few moments of awkward silence, David speaks up, keeping his eyes on the stove. “I’m not an alcoholic. And I’m not going to fall off the wagon if there’s a glass of wine in my vicinity.”

Patrick thinks back to the many evenings they spent curled up on the couch with a glass of wine, whether something cheap from Brebner’s or a reserve vintage they nabbed from the store. He’s never known David to have a problem with alcohol. Between the two of them, Patrick was the lightweight, and much more likely to get tipsy. Clearly there has to be a reason for David’s decision to abstain, whether it qualifies as alcoholism or not, but given how nervous David looks, Patrick wants to tread lightly.

“You can tell me as little or as much as you want to about why you’re not drinking, David. It’s okay no matter what the reason.”

Patrick’s standing close enough to David that he can see him swallowing hard, trying to keep his composure. The last thing he wants is to send them off the rails into another emotional meltdown. David clearly feels put on the spot, and that’s not what he meant to do. He certainly doesn’t want David to feel like he’s being judged. It would be the worst kind of hypocrisy at this point.

Patrick clears his throat a little, not sure how to launch this discission, but then decides to jump right in. “You know, the night I was attacked, with Jamie, I was hammered. Wasted. I made some bad decisions that I probably wouldn’t have made if I was sober.”

David steps away from the pot of boiling water and stares at Patrick. “What are you talking about?”

Patrick recognizes David’s “I need a minute to catch up” phrase, and understands. He wishes he could have found a way to work this into conversation more smoothly, but there is a connection, and he needs to get it out. However he goes at it, the explanation is a rough one, and Patrick’s been stumbling over it in his own mind for a week now. At least if he manages to spit it out, he might be able to come to terms with it.

“My aunt had asked me to get together with Jamie to check in on him, saying he was having a hard time at university. But really she was asking Jamie to check in on me. I wasn’t doing well – I hadn’t found a new job, wasn’t even really looking, and I was pretty miserable. So I let Jamie convince me that going out with him and his college friends was a good look for a thirty-something guy, and I sat at the bar all night and drank tequila shots.”

“But you don’t even like tequila,” David says, breathless.

“No, I don’t. It’s disgusting.”

“It is.” David nods sympathetically. He takes Patrick by the arm and pulls him out of the kitchen, sitting him down on the couch and letting his hands rest on his shoulders. “Okay. Tell me the rest.” 

Patrick is almost thankful that David won’t let him end the story there. It’s time to get it out. “Jamie was flirting with another guy, some other kids started talking shit, and I got up to intervene, thinking I would save the day and defend him. I imagined myself some kind of hero. But I was so drunk, whatever I was saying was just making it worse. I wasn’t being clever, I was just being loud and aggressive. Jamie dragged me outside, trying to avoid trouble. But the asshole kids followed us out, and that’s when it got physical.”

“Patrick.” David’s eyes are wide, and he stares at Patrick for a long moment, then pulls him into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” David says, holding him tight. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry too,” Patrick says. “It’s fucking embarrassing.”

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong-”

“I kind of did,” Patrick corrects him, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face into David’s hair. “I’m not blaming the victim here, but this was more your run-of-the-mill bar fight than a hate crime. I was blitzed off my ass, I said some stupid stuff to some hyped-up kids practically half my age, and I got beat up.”

“You only got in a fight because you were defending your cousin,” David says. “Who was the target of homophobic animals.”

“I’ll accept 90% bar fight, 10% hate crime,” Patrick says, sinking into David’s embrace.

“At least fifty-fifty.” David’s big hand is holding Patrick’s head against his own. Patrick shifts a little, and then he’s sitting in David’s lap, surrounded by David’s arms, his scent, his breath.

“I feel like an idiot,” Patrick says softly, and David shakes his head in denial. 

“You’re not an idiot.”

“Wouldn’t you be embarrassed if you got yourself into that situation?” Patrick asks.

David rubs his hands up and down Patrick’s back, and his sore muscles twinge, but Patrick doesn’t pull away. It feels too good to be wrapped up in David like this. “Maybe a little. But they _assaulted_ you. No matter what you said to them, that’s criminal.” David turns his face and his nose presses into Patrick’s hair. “Did you talk to the police? Do you want to talk to our lawyer? Now that my family has money again, she’s returning our calls.”

“No, I reported it, the guy who kicked me is probably pleading out. I didn’t want to have to deal with it.”

“And so you booked a flight to Florida.”

“I did.”

The timer on the stove goes off and they both jump, Patrick regretting it instantly as his ribs protest.

“Oh, god, sorry, are you okay?” David babbles, his hands reaching to steady Patrick as they untangle themselves.

“I’m fine,” Patrick says with a smile. He gives David’s hand a squeeze and then they make their way into the kitchen to deal with their dinner, Patrick searching for a strainer for the pasta as David turns off the heat. They work together easily, plating their food and digging in, and their conversation returns to mundane things like whether Patrick’s version of Bolognese is appropriate even though it’s made with ground beef, and why flat pasta tastes better than round pasta. 

They’ve finished loading the dishwasher and putting away their leftovers when David stops wiping the counter and turns to Patrick, one hand on his hip. “So, you don’t care if I don’t drink?” David’s face is studiously neutral, but Patrick can tell he’s nervous about Patrick’s answer.

“Nope. I really don’t. It’d be good for me to stop, too. At least for a while.”

David holds Patrick’s gaze, and for a moment Patrick thinks he’s going to argue, but then he just nods. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

They migrate to the couch, and David turns on another cooking show (this one has the contestants running through a grocery store to find their ingredients, and it makes Patrick think about David at the nearby supermarket this afternoon, patiently going through Patrick’s ridiculously detailed list to find the 15 oz cans of organic, fire-roasted petite diced tomatoes), and before he knows it Patrick is nodding off.

“Hey.”

Patrick opens his eyes, finding David looking at him from the other end of the couch.

“Want to go to bed?”

Patrick squints to see the time on the clock in the kitchen. “It’s not even nine.”

David shrugs. “So?” He stands up and holds out his hand. “I’m open to an early night.”

It should bother him, this coddling from David, but it doesn’t. After he got beat up, Patrick had quickly turned away his parents’ suggestion that he come home to recuperate. At the time he was too upset about where he had ended up – alone, unemployed, and frankly feeling like an idiot for having let his life turn into such a mess – to let his family take care of him. He can’t believe it was only a week ago. And it was only forty-eight hours ago that he ran into David in the Milwaukee airport. It’s crazy how quickly everything has changed.

Patrick takes David’s hand and lets him help him up off the couch. He leans into David and tucks his face in the crook of his neck, and David hums reassurance and pats his shoulders. David smells like garlic and onions and Rose Apothecary body milk, and Patrick wants to stay here forever.

“Sorry, you’ll fall asleep on your feet, and that won’t work for either of us,” David says, and Patrick realizes he must have said that last bit out loud that. No harm done, it seems.

They take turns in the bathroom, and get changed into sleep clothes, David wearing the same striped t-shirt Patrick remembers from way back at Ray’s house. “Okay if I read for a while?” David asks, propping a pillow behind himself. He blinks at Patrick, his dark lashes hypnotizing, until Patrick rouses himself enough to respond.

“Of course.” Patrick slides under the covers and tucks himself against David almost automatically, his drowsiness letting him get away with it without even feeling awkward. David curls his arm around Patrick’s body, holding him close, and Patrick drifts off feeling better than he has in a long, long time.


	7. Chapter 7

David wakes early and slides out of bed without looking at Patrick; if he starts mooning over him now, it will make it that much harder to get up.

He is soon outside in the early morning chill, watching the patchy fog dissipate as he runs along man-made waterways. He knows it’s all manufactured, designed to entice retirees into spending their golden years sitting on a patio here instead of in whatever snowbound northern location they earned their 401k in, but it’s pretty nonetheless.

David does a few loops of Patrick’s neighborhood and then ventures out past the gates onto a busier commercial street. The suburbs look the same as in any medium-sized town, albeit with a slightly sunnier vibe. He passes a pizza place, a sketchy looking nail salon, and a hardware store, and then pauses when a sweet, yeasty scent floods his senses. Following his nose, he heads down a side street where a nondescript sign advertises freshly baked bread and pastries.

Inside the shop, David stands and breathes deeply, then takes his time selecting a bag full of treats. He’s not even upset about interrupting his run, everything smells so good. It’s all he can do not to taste each of them on his way back (although he does allow himself one little chouquette – it’s been forever since he’s had a decent French sugar puff).

Back at the house, David leaves the pastries in the kitchen while he showers and gets dressed. Only when he’s completely ready for the day, pastries arranged in a basket and coffee made, does he allow himself to return to the bedroom. To Patrick.

It’s not creepy, he tells himself. It’s allowed. Patrick is curled up on his side, one hand under his pillow and the other tucked under his chin. The bruise on his temple is almost gone, just a faint yellow-green tinge remaining, and his stitches don’t look nearly as ghastly as they did a few days ago. Patrick’s hair is short – still the same way he used to keep it – so it won’t take long at all for the area around the cut to fill back in, although David thinks he may have a lingering scar.

David’s still not clear on how the head injury happened, and letting his imagination run wild (an impact against something sharp when he was knocked down?) is disturbing. He thinks back to what Patrick told him yesterday about the attack, downplaying it as a bar fight, as partially Patrick’s fault for being drunk and stupid. He knows Patrick can have a temper in the right (or wrong) circumstances, but it still doesn’t make a lot of sense to him. David doesn’t think he’s being overly dramatic to say that Patrick is traumatized. No matter what Patrick said, he didn’t ask to have his ribs broken and his head sliced open.

David is seized with the overwhelming need to protect Patrick. There’s a sadness in Patrick’s eyes now that pains him, and he’s not sure that he’s equipped to take it away, not when David himself caused some of that pain. But moments of happiness have emerged over the past few days, little smiles and tentative laughter. It’s a start. 

David slides under the covers and scoots close to Patrick, then leans in and presses a soft kiss to his forehead, letting his hand rest gently on Patrick’s t-shirt clad shoulder. Patrick snuffles adorably and scrunches his face up, so David kisses him again, this time on his nose, resulting in more adorable scrunching.

Patrick blinks a few times and then focuses on David. “Morning?” He reaches out and flops his hand on David’s waist.

“Um, yes. Almost ten.”

Patrick blinks some more. “Hi.”

David smiles at him. “Seems like you slept well?”

“Yeah, actually.” Patrick closes his eyes and leans his head against David’s face. “Thanks.”

“Not sure it was my doing, but I’m glad.” David kisses Patrick’s scratchy cheek, then his lips. 

Patrick kisses back, sleepy and soft, then rolls to his back. “Do I smell coffee?”

“You do. And…” David twists around and presents Patrick with the basket of pastries. “Breakfast.”

Patrick sits up, wincing, and David tucks him up against his body, one arm stretching around Patrick’s waist. 

“These look great,” Patrick says, curious. “Did you go shopping again?”

“Found them on my run. Try this one – it’s chocolate _and_ pistachio.” David can’t help being excited, even though it’s silly, but Patrick is smiling and happy and if baked goods are doing it, he’s not going to complain.

Patrick takes a bite, then another, and finally gets to the filling, his face stretching with a smile. “Oh god, this is amazing.”

“Right?” David kisses Patrick on the corner of his mouth, tasting the flakes of croissant.

“Here,” Patrick hands the pastry to David and takes another out of the basket. “Is this one almond?”

“What gave it away, the almonds on the top?”

“Funny, you’re very funny.”

They make their way through the basket, trading bits and pieces of each pastry. David finally gives up and starts breaking them open so he can get to the good parts.

“This one’s apple,” he says, showing Patrick. “Fruit is healthy.”

“Definitely a healthy breakfast,” Patrick replies. “Right up there with pizza and beer.”

“I’m offended that you would compare pastries made with imported French butter to pizza and beer. Take that back or I won’t let you taste the apricot one.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Patrick grins and nibbles at David’s fingers. There are flakes of pastry everywhere, and David’s skin is sticky with glaze and sugar, and he could not care less, not when Patrick is warm and safe next to him and smiling up a storm.

After a while they have eaten their fill of the croissants, and Patrick sags back against David, groaning. “That was delicious.”

“You’re delicious.” David rubs Patrick’s tummy, a little bit of softness just above the waist of his sleep pants. Patrick hums and twists his head, meeting David’s lips in a sugar-sweet kiss.

“Thank you for breakfast,” Patrick says softly, kissing David again, and then sighing as he tips his head back. “But this kind of ruined my plans.”

David tucks his chin over Patrick’s shoulder and nuzzles his ear. “What plans were those?”

“I thought we’d drive over to the next town, it’s significantly more interesting. There are some nice architectural features, a few gift shops and boutiques, and a little bistro I wanted to take you to for lunch. I think you’d like it.”

“So how exactly does our spur of the moment pastry feast interfere with these promising plans?”

“I’m stuffed. Not exactly conducive to going out for lunch.”

“Patrick, even if we hurry, lunch is still hours away. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” David rubs at Patrick’s shoulders and pushes at him. “At least, if you can manage to get out of bed and get dressed. I’ll throw the sheets into the wash while you get ready.”

Patrick shoots him a strange look, and David points to the scattering of croissant debris spread out around them. “I can put up with a little bit of a mess for spontaneity’s sake, but I’m not sleeping in a pile of crumbs tonight.”

As David gathers up the sheets, he thinks he knows what Patrick’s odd look was for. Generally speaking, when they washed their linens in the past, it was due to somewhat less G rated activities than breakfast in bed. He hopes Patrick isn’t worried about what they’ve been up to (or not up to) physically. Given that they’ve only been back together for less than three full days, along with Patrick’s injuries, it seems utterly reasonable that they’ve been keeping it PG.

He knows Patrick has always seen sex in a more black and white light than David has. For David, being with Patrick over the past few days has been more than enough. The intimacy they have shared isn’t about sex, and doesn’t have to be – it’s being vulnerable together, holding each other through painful confessions and whispered reassurances. It’s Patrick casually touching David’s waist when he walks by. It’s how David’s hands flutter towards Patrick’s shoulders, and how Patrick looks at him when they land. 

David thinks maybe they should talk about it, though. God knows he’s given Patrick confusing signals before – he’s probably never going to live down the whole sleepover mishap when the guy died in the motel.

He goes out by the pool to make sure his outfit is suitable for today’s planned outing – it’s gotten warmer and the fog has all burned away, but there’s still a bit of chill in the air. He thinks his white and black Christopher Kane sweater will be fine, it’s on the thin side and rather fitted, and if he’s honest with himself, shows off his shoulders quite nicely.

David smiles at the thought of Patrick planning an activity for them. It’s shaping up to be quite a wonderful day. And there was even a mention of boutiques…

He takes out his phone to scope out whether any of the shops might actually stock something he would want to buy, and realizes that Alexis has sent him increasingly frantic texts. And as if thinking about her has actually called her into being, his phone rings.

“What?”

“David. You promised.”

“Promised what?” 

“Didn’t you read my texts?”

“Obviously not.” David sits down on one of the lounge chairs, after giving the floral cushion a quick sweep with his hand to make sure there aren’t any fire ants or other sneaky creatures lingering about. Clearly Alexis has something on her mind, he might as well get comfortable.

“The Haute Tea presentation got moved up to _tomorrow,_ and you promised you would help me with it.”

“That was supposed to be next month.”

“Well, it’s not, and Koharu already emailed me twice to make sure you had blessed the key design elements.”

“You told Koharu I was helping you?” Koharu had been an exchange student from Japan when David met her in high school. Now she is the CEO of one of the fastest growing and most creative restaurant groups in the Seattle area.

“Yes, David, how did you think I got the account?” Alexis’ voice is rising into the stratosphere, and David holds the phone away from his ear and takes a deep breath.

“Okay, Alexis, okay, calm down.”

“How can I be calm when you’re ignoring me at one of the most important moments in my career?”

“Given how eager Koharu is to work with me, isn’t it actually one of the most important moments in _my_ career?”

“David!”

“Fine, fine. Give me a few minutes to get set up and I’ll call you back. Send me what you’ve got in the meantime.”

There is a silence from the other end of the phone, and then Alexis speaks, her voice gone quiet. “Really?”

“Of course.” He had promised to help her, and he isn’t going to go back on his word, not with Alexis. Besides, he actually has several very promising ideas for the Haute Tea branding line. Between the two of them, they can generate a dazzling powerpoint presentation in a solid afternoon of work.

The moment he hangs up the phone, however, David realizes his mistake. “Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.”

“What’s wrong?” asks Patrick, coming out onto the lanai. David tilts his head back and recites “shit” again in his head another dozen times. 

“I got a call from Alexis.”

“Everything okay?” Patrick sits down on the other lounger, his jean-clad knees knocking into David’s. 

“Yes. Well, no, but nothing dire.”

“What’s up?”

“I promised Alexis I’d help her with a client pitch, and it got moved up. So I can’t go to the cute town with you today.”

Patrick looks briefly disappointed, then his face smooths out and he nods. “No problem, I understand.”

“I’d much rather hang out with you, you know that, right?” David leans over and takes one of Patrick’s hands in his. “I’m sorry to mess up your plans.”

Patrick’s eyes flit around, landing somewhere by David’s shoulder, and David feels his stomach sink. Patrick doesn’t believe him. He thinks David is blowing him off.

“What, um,” Patrick starts, then shakes his head. “Forget it.”

“What?” David shifts to sit next to Patrick. “I mean it. I was excited about our afternoon, the shopping and the food…”

“I know, I know you wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to check out a new restaurant for no reason. It’s just…”. Patrick lets out a breath and takes his hand out of David’s, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t think Alexis likes me very much.”

_Oh._ David must be staring at Patrick with his mouth open, because Patrick huffs out a sad laugh. 

“You don’t have to come up with a response to that, David. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not your problem.”

David can feel his face scrunch up. “How is it not my problem?”

“I messed things up with her, I’ll have to figure out how to fix it.”

David tugs Patrick’s hands back into his own. “We messed things up with each other. Alexis was merely an unfortunate casualty.”

Patrick stands up and pulls David up with him. “Regardless, do what you need to do to help her out. The bistro will still be there tomorrow.”

“Will it?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure.” Patrick brushes a sweet, toothpaste-y kiss across David’s lips, and David smiles into it. 

“Mmm,” he says, pulling away but keeping his hands draped on Patrick’s shoulders. “More of that later, perhaps?”

Patrick actually blushes – blushes! – and ducks his head. “Sure.”

After another moment of awkward adorableness where David steals a few more kisses, Patrick suggests that David use his parents’ office. David plugs in his laptop, facetimes Alexis on his phone, and they get to work.

It’s not the first time they’ve partnered up on one of Alexis’ many projects, especially where she veers into marketing. David enjoys the chance to stretch his design skills, and it’s a lot more interesting than the Rose Apothecary sourcing work, which has frankly gotten fairly routine at this point.

Haute Tea is a high-end tea shop that is struggling to build its brand recognition, especially when it comes to competing against the zillions of coffee shops that also happen to sell tea. They asked Alexis for a plan that would help them bring new energy to their brand and promote their unique strengths.

David thinks their logo needs an update, and he shoots some of his design ideas over to Alexis. “They need to make sure people don’t get them confused with ‘ye olde tea shoppe’ stores. Nothing British, nothing floral, no scones with clotted cream.”

“No Liberty prints?” asks Alexis.

“Exactly.”

They work on some sleek, modern designs, black and white with a bit of color, and think about coordinating ways in which to update the company’s website. Kokuro doesn’t want to lean into her Japanese heritage, which David thinks is a shame, but then again the name of the company is in French, so there’s that.

They finish up, David agreeing to look over the final slide deck after Alexis makes a few more edits and sends it to him later. He thinks they did pretty well and is curious to see if Kokuro agrees. He wouldn’t mind doing more work with her in the future. If Rose Apothecary was still an independent business, he could see them featuring her teas.

“Thank you, David,” Alexis says. “I’m sure it was hard to pull yourself away from Patrick, now that you guys have miraculously fixed everything.”

There’s a tone in Alexis’ voice that David doesn’t care for. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

Alexis twirls her hair around her finger. David thinks it’s remarkable that she has any left, given how often she does this. “Nothing, David.”

“Okay…”

“Just – you were awfully mad at him, for an awfully long time. It seems pretty convenient that you run into him a few days ago and now everything is magically okay. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”

David feels a pang of doubt, but he’s also insulted. “That’s my business, not yours.”

“It was my business when you cried on my shoulder for all those months, and when you threw out my French press because it reminded you of the one Patrick bought you, and when you made me delete all those pictures from my phone-”

“Fine,” David interrupts, not at all interested in going over all of this again. “I will remember not to come to you for emotional support in the future.”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Alexis whines.

“What exactly are you saying, then?”

Alexis lets out a breath and shakes her head. “You made me so angry with him,” Alexis says softly. “He _hurt_ you. You guys had something really good, and he ruined it.” 

“It wasn’t all his fault,” David says, hoping he doesn’t have to go into more detail.

“I knew that,” Alexis says, and David rolls his eyes because it’s just like Alexis to pretend she knows better than him, even now.

“You didn’t.”

“David, fine. Whatever. Anyway, whosever fault it was, I saw what losing him did to you,” Alexis goes on, looking at him so earnestly through the screen that David has to duck his head. “That night in the Hamptons… I can’t go through that again, David. You can’t either.”

“That won’t happen again,” David says, a sick punch in his gut at the memory. 

“But how do you know?”

“I know because I’m working on it, Alexis, every day.” David fights to stay calm. He understands why his family is still questioning him, even almost three years later, but he wishes they’d have a little more faith.

“David, it’s just that… your break-up with Patrick wasn’t anything like your other break-ups. It was more than mall pretzel level damage. Just thinking about it makes my insides hurt. I still have all of these icky, upset feelings.” She waves her hands around. “And I didn’t get a cathartic rom-com reunion at the airport, or any apology kisses.” She punctuates her words with her finger, pointing at him accusingly. “What am I supposed to do now, just do a three-sixty for no reason?”

“One-eighty,” David corrects automatically. “And there is a reason. The best reason.” Patrick, he thinks. A chance to be together again. 

“I know….” she says, dragging the word out into a whine. “But it’s your reason, not mine. Ugh, this is so aggravating.”

“He misses you too,” David says, the words coming out of nowhere. He knows it’s true as soon as he says it.

There’s a pause, and then Alexis says, sadly, “That doesn’t help.”

Later that night, David finally finishes one last review of the Haute Tea presentation and sends it back to Alexis. He’s in bed with his laptop, Patrick lying next to him, curled up under the blankets and snoring softly. David was too busy to even worry about whether Patrick was upset about their current level of physical activity until long after Patrick fell asleep; that issue is going to have to wait for another day.

He also didn’t get a chance to talk to Patrick about Alexis. David has certainly put a lot of energy into hating on Alexis’ exes after painful splits, and he thinks he understands how hard it can be to forgive someone for hurting a person you love, although it makes him uncomfortable to focus too hard on what that means about how much Alexis cares about him.

David hopes he can find a way to mend the relationship between Patrick and Alexis. They were close, family, and they deserve to have that back. And if David can figure that out, maybe there’s hope for him and Stevie, too.

He sets his laptop aside and slides under the covers, beaming to himself as Patrick pulls him close, seeking him out even in sleep. They can really do this, he thinks. It’s a chance he never thought he’d have, but it’s here, and David is going to make the most of it.


End file.
